Prayer For The Living
by Azulsky
Summary: Prayers aren't just for the living.


AN: I wrote this in the middle of the night tonight, got it quickly beta'd. Hope you enjoy. There aren't any spoilers really and no pairings.

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She's always prayed, was going to raise her children to pray too. She wishes she had more time. It was important to know when to ask for help and sanctuary, while also knowing when to fight. Simply because she was in heaven didn't mean she stopped praying. It just meant it was more direct.

She used to be the only one to pray for her family. There wasn't much faith on her husband's side of the family, and she doubted very much that anyone left on her side had much faith in John's abilities. She might have heard one or two prayers for the kids, but she wasn't sure.

It took her a bit to hear the other voice. Well, it wasn't much of a voice, more of a whisper, a mantra broken by screams. Pain so strong she wondered why whoever was praying was praying for her sons and not for himself. It wasn't until she stopped praying and listened that she understood the why.

She cries as she now prays for him to hear her as well, and although she knows her husband is devoid from the light, her faith is strong. Miracles happen; all she had to do was look at her two beautiful sons to know the impossible does happen. She wishes and prays for his suffering to end. Even damned he prays for others; it means something. It has to.

She prays for him to hear her, knowing it's impossible, but she tries anyway. It's what she's always done. It's what she'll always do. She's patient, had to be to marry a marine.

_Gracious God, at times my life seems to be __too much__. Too full. Too demanding. Too consuming. Everything feels necessary, even important, but weariness creeps across my body and soul like storm clouds gathering in an open sky._

If there was one thing Mary never prayed for was to hear her son's voice raise to her. His prayers were never in words, but in touches and actions. Never words.

_As my body is depleted of energy, my mind loses interest in what normally enthuses me. My tired soul sags as if it were a balloon losing its air. Sometimes I feel so spent that even restorative sleep seems to elude me. Help me sort the truly important from what only seems important._

She prayed for his eyes to see, for his fingers to work, for his ears to listen, for his mouth to say what he needs. Most of the time, his prayers are answered in the form of his brother, the one that uses words. She's watched his float up from his mouth towards the skies every night for so many years, catching them in the breeze; she feels them glide over her and through her until she's consumed by the pleas for rest and shelter from worry.

_Give me courage to say no to what drains rather than feeds me. Help me find brief moments to sit in perfect stillness while you massage my soul._

He prays enough for himself and his brother, the one with wordless prayers. So she's never prayed to hear her eldest words. She hears her husband, a full time chorus to her song, always constant, always there, drifting out from the dark. At nights, just before her youngest closes his eyes to the world, he joins in, sweeter and softer. It doesn't last long, it never does.

Early one morning she can't help quell the surprise of hearing a quite prayer drift up, remembering his voice as a child when she would sit with him before tucking him in, teaching him which of the Saints would protect him that night, and how the Mother would always look out for all of her sons. How small he sounded, but yet, the hint of strength behind the words he repeated after her.

His voice is different now, not small and soft, but rough and deep, hoarse from yelling an exorcism over the chanting of a cult trying to counter his own words last night. The words were different from what she taught him, but then most of what she taught him wasn't useful to him any longer. She marvels at his rhythm, the steadiness within the words. Though no longer the same voice, she still hears the hidden current of strength, and wonders if even in heaven she can win the lottery.

_And, when I go to my nightly sleeping place, wrap your darkness around me like the softest cloak, so that I may sleep peacefully in your embrace. I ask this for the sake of your love. Amen._

She hears their prayers, waits for the day when all of them find the harmony and hear each other. It's impossible, a miracle that will never come. She knows and prays anyway.


End file.
